“Coming,” he groaned, his hips slamming into her over and over, the heat of his release a hot flood within her that made her sigh, his seed filling her to overflowing. His hot breath came fast and hard against her throat, his soft lips pressing little kisses under her ear, his strong hand stroking the weight of her hair. He murmured little satisfied sounds, almost a vibration of pleasure from deep in his chest. Slowly, his thrusts subsided, her cunt squeezing him all the while, coaxing every last drop of his essence into her. She wanted all of him, wanted to take all that he offered, gratefully, submissively, lovingly.
This was where she knew Keihl belonged, inside the loving arms, the welcoming pussy, of his wife, his woman, his love.
Chapter Twenty
I
t had been a long, frustrating day at the office. Asshole clients, a never-ending mountain of work, and a slave-driving boss who expected — as usual — for her to have all the answers. She did, of course, but it got old fast when her coworkers never seemed to get the tough questions, the fiendishly difficult accounts, or the endless amounts of tedious market research.
She’d received the e-mail from her husband that morning as soon as she’d sat down at her desk. That only made things worse.
When you get home from work, you’re to take a bath immediately. Take your time, but NO masturbating. After the bath, I want you in your new robe only. No underwear. No make-up. Nothing but you.
I’ll be home a little late — and I want you ready for me when I get there.
K
Apparently, he’d gotten her a gift. A robe though?
Of course, she’d been thinking about the e-mail all day, and just what Keihl had up his sleeve. She knew that was his entire intent. She hoped it involved a hot, sore, bottom, a well-pounded pussy, and snuggling before nodding off to sleep.
He liked to keep her thinking about him, focused on him, on pleasing him. These texts, or e-mails, or notes were just one way he’d started doing it — and she loved it. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d asked for. It didn’t make things any easier though — especially the no masturbation dictate. That was a new one, and her devilishly clever husband had to have known what that would do to her. As soon as she’d read it, she’d had the insane urge to find a quiet stall in one of the bathrooms and plunge her fingers into her pussy.
This shit is sooo not fair.
She looked up at the knock on her open door. Kevin, one of the sales executives she worked with, leaned a shoulder against the jamb, his well-tailored dress shirt snug on his slender frame. He may have had the charming arrogance of a twenty-something, but his body didn’t yet have the solid presence and power of a mature man. He wasn’t near the muscled hunk her Keihl was, and just that thought started a stirring deep in her belly. Jesus, this was crazy.
“What’s up, Kevin?”
“You’ve got a visitor,” he said, his eyebrows waggling.
Kirsten could make out a blonde head standing behind him. Before Kevin stood aside, his eyes went wide, and he mouthed the words. “So HOT.”
Idiot.
Kirsten had to put a hand to her mouth to smoother her smile at her juvenile, but amusing, coworker.
“Hi!”
Kirsten’s jaw dropped. “Sharon?”
She gave Kirsten a bemused smile. “Last time I checked, anyway. You got a few minutes?”
Kirsten waved Sharon toward a chair as she rose, moving to the door to close it. Sharon took the seat, smoothing her black skirt over long, trim thighs, the tasteful, but sexy heels showing off smooth, tanned legs that gleamed in the light.
“What, uh. What brings you out here?”
Sharon had never come to the office before. Hell, she’d only seen Sharon in person once before, a quick lunch taken during one of Keihl’s trips. Of course, they’d talked on the phone several times, but this … was new.
“Quite a set up you’ve got here.” Sharon winked, the pale blonde of her hair catching the harsh overhead light, rendering it almost white. “Moving up in the world!”
“Heh, I wish it was as good as it looked,” Kirsten said, dropping into her chair, her hand caressing her belly for a moment.
Sharon’s eye caught it, and she beamed. “So … how’s it going? Still painting the walls, or is that over with?”
“Thank God, yes. No more puking.” Kirsten hated the blush that heated her cheeks. “Different problem now.”
“Well, if you’re anything like I am during my second trimester, you’re probably thinking about sex every waking hour.” Sharon glanced over her shoulder, and leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “I think I’d have fucked anything with a penis during my second trimester. Poor Tom didn’t know what to do with me.”
Kirsten’s throat tightened. “What … did he do?”
“Gave me plenty of what I wanted, of course.” She giggled. “Men.”
“Keihl and I… we don’t have that problem.” She gave Sharon a little shrug. “He takes care of the issue.”
“So you’re
not
horny as a fifteen year old now?” Sharon crossed her legs, her black heel dangling from her wiggling toes.
Kirsten put her face in her hands. “Worse. I seriously considered … never mind. Yeah, it’s bad.”
Sharon made a sympathetic sound. “So, did you… talk about it with him?”
“Head of Household?”
Sharon nodded. In one of the most surreal lunch conversations Kirsten could ever remember having, Sharon had boldly suggested Kirsten broach the subject with her husband. At the time, she remembered the shock — and the arousal — she’d felt. But she hadn’t really understood why, the larger context.
The woman seemed to know Kirsten better than she knew herself.
“Yes, I think”—Kirsten flipped a lock of hair out of her eyes—”he’s open to it. Very open to it, judging by how things have gone since. Still…”
“It’s not enough, is it?”
“No,” Kirsten said, her voice soft. “I don’t know why. But no.”
Sharon pursed her lips, twirling the huge sparkling diamond around and around on her slender finger.
“What, um, brought you down here, Sharon?”
It wasn’t as if there was a problem with Sharon visiting her at work, more it was a case of the beautiful woman catching Kirsten… off guard.
Oh so you think she’s beautiful now?
Hormones couldn’t turn a girl bisexual. Could they?
Sharon sat higher in her chair, pulling the gray suit coat she wore a little straighter, white lace just visible underneath. Charming
dishabille
, was the description that came to mind.
Get a hold of yourself, you horny slut.
“
I think you should come have dinner with us. Tom and me.” Sharon locked her gaze with Kirsten. “Both of you.”
“Why — I mean, what would you...?” Kirsten shook her head, putting a hand to her face. “Apparently, even speech is tough for me lately. Does horniness shut down the speech regions of the brain? If it does, I’m in deep shit.”
“There are things you can do about that, you know.” Sharon’s hand stroked down her gleaming leg, adjusting the strap of her heel. “Second trimester for all its pleasures, can be, well,
trying
. Sometimes when a girl’s man is, ah, indisposed — measures need to be taken.”
Shit.
“Sharon, you’re hot — I’m secure enough to say it.” The words just tumbled out, seemingly of their own volition, consequences be damned. Kirsten swallowed against the dryness of her mouth. “But that’s not me. I like… men.”
Jesus, did she ever like men. Lately, she seemed to “like” every fucking man she laid eyes on.
“I know, I know,” Sharon said, lifting a hand, palm out. “I think you’re missing out, but I respect it. That wasn’t what I was getting at though. I think Keihl would feel less… constrained. If everything is out in the open, between all of us, then maybe he can relax a little bit more. If he’s not worried about — things — then I think he might give you more of what you want. A lot more.”
“I’m not sure he needs any help in that department.”
Sharon lifted a shoulder. “Not saying he does. What I
am
saying is, given the green light… you might find yourself with more of a tiger than you ever imagined.”
The thought had crossed Kirsten’s mind. What exactly was
he
thinking about all this? Was it simply indulging his wife’s sexual fantasies? A healthy sharing of intimacy? Or was this tapping into his needs too?
You know the answer to this, Kirsten. He wants this as much as you do.
Did he really know how far, how intense her fantasies went though? She still wasn’t sure. Hell,
she
didn’t even know how deep those waters ran.
“I don’t think — I don’t think he’s ready for that. Not right now anyway.” Kirsten leaned back in her chair, blowing out a long breath. “Something happened between him and Tom. I don’t know the details, but he — yeah, I’m not sure they’re even talking anymore.”
It was Sharon’s turn for a pretty blush. “That was… my fault. I — I pushed things a little faster than they should’ve gone.”
“He told me about it.” Kirsten fixed the woman with a direct look. “I trust him. I always have. Are you saying I shouldn’t have?”
“Oh, God no.” Sharon shook her head, giving her a sheepish smile. “That’s a good man you have there. Loyal and true. Practically a Boy Scout.”
Boy scouts don’t do to their wives what Keihl’s been doing to me.
“Honestly?” Kirsten sighed. “I think he was worried I thought he’d been — up to something.”
“Man doesn’t know how deep the well goes with his dirty, dirty wife, does he?”
Sharon flashed her a toothsome grin.
“He has
no
idea. None at all.” Kirsten looked at the shelf next to her desk, reaching out, her finger tracing his picture, caressing the photo of him. “I’m afraid he’d probably call me a whore if I pushed things too far, too fast. You know?”
There were far worse things than her husband simply not touching his pregnant wife. Far worse.
“I do.” Sharon stood, tucking a lock of platinum hair behind an ear, the charming gold hoop dangling from the earlobe catching the light. “I’ve seen it before. But most men? They just need to be… introduced the right way to it. Once they get a taste? Most of them dive right in.”
She turned for the door, opening it.
Kirsten tried to ignore the lithe legs, the way the enviable curves of Sharon’s ass were enhanced by the snug grip of the black skirt.
The blonde beauty stopped in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder. “Convince him to come to dinner at our place. No pressure — but let him know you’re cool with… whatever happens.” She turned, giving Kirsten a mischievous look, laying a long, slender hand along the door jamb.
“Trust me. He won’t be able to resist.”
Chapter Twenty One
I
t was even better than he’d imagined. He’d told her months ago he’d have her down there one day, naked, sweating for him.
She still looked back at him every few minutes, her eyes wide, her fetching blush rising.
He loved every second of this.
“Faster, girl.” He raised his palm up. “No slacking.”
The whine of the treadmill increased as the beeps sounded, her no doubt trembling finger upping the speed of the motor.
Keihl had to remember to breathe as he sat there, his cock painfully hard, watching her work. For him.
Her buttocks flexed and jiggled, tightened and wobbled, as she walked on. At first, she walked in a sort of hunched over position, the exposure of her charms too much for her. But after a few minutes, once she’d acclimated to it, she straightened, occasionally flicking the ponytail of her dark hair free just as she would at any normal gym.
But this gym was far, far from normal. More ideas flooded in as he scanned the rest of the basement, his eyes always coming back to that gorgeous naked bottom that fairly cried out to him for caresses and spanks, kisses and lashes. Between bouts of hypnotic perusal of her round, bouncing buttocks, he looked over at the frame for the squat rack, the chrome finish gleaming even under the dull brightness of the fluorescents. He had an idea for that, but he needed to research it further, make sure it was safe. It was the sweetest form of research, a perverted scholarship he enjoyed just as much as the acts that resulted from it.
The arousal from simply watching her, in silence, was more than he’d ever anticipated. Certainly, her gorgeous, naked body always got him going, but there was something more than that here. It was the simple obedience she’d shown. He’d ordered her down here, onto the treadmill, and with a loud slap to her ass, he’d said a simple: “Get going.”
Not one word in retort from her, nor any hesitation. The motor had started up before he’d even sat down in the chair he’d placed behind the treadmill, resting his foot on the dark plastic of the frame.